The Sea Shore

by William S. Furneaux

What are the attractions which so often entice us to the sea shore, which give such charm to a ramble along the cliffs or the beach, and which will so frequently constrain the most active wanderer to rest and admire the scene before him? The chief of these attractions is undoubtedly the incessant motion of the water and the constant change of scene presented to his view. As we ramble along a beaten track at the edge of the cliff, new and varied features of the coast are constantly opening up before us. Each little headland passed reveals a sheltered picturesque cove or a gentle bay with its line of yellow sands backed by the cliffs and washed by the foaming waves; while now and again our path slopes down to a peaceful valley with its cluster of pretty cottages, and the rippling stream winding its way towards the sea. On the one hand is the blue sea, full of life and motion as far as the eye can reach, and on the other the cultivated fields or the wild and rugged downs.

The variety of these scenes is further increased by the frequent changes in the character of the cliffs themselves. Where they are composed of soft material we find the coast-line washed into gentle curves, and the beach formed of a continuous stretch of fine sand; but where harder rocks exist the scenery is wild and varied, and the beach usually strewn with irregular masses of all sizes.

Then, when we approach the water’s edge, we find a delight in watching the approaching waves as they roll over the sandy or pebbly beach, or embrace an outlying rock, gently raising its olive covering of dangling weeds.

Such attractions will allure the ordinary lover of Nature—the mere seeker after the picturesque—but to the true naturalist there are many others. The latter loves to read in the cliffs their past history, to observe to what extent the general scenery of the coast is due to the nature of the rocks, and to learn the action of the waves from the character of the cliffs and beach, and from the changes which are known to have taken place in the contour of the land in past years. He also delights to study those plants and flowers which are peculiar to the coast, and to observe how the influences of the sea have produced interesting modifications in certain of our flowering plants, as may be seen by comparing them with the same species from inland districts. The sea birds, too, differing so much as they do from our other feathered friends in structure and habit, provide a new field for study; while the remarkably varied character of the forms of life met with on the beach and in the shallow waters fringing the land is in itself sufficient to supply the most active naturalist with material for prolonged and constant work.

Let us first observe some of the general features of the coast itself, and see how far we can account for the great diversity of character presented to us, and for the continual changes and incessant motions that add such a charm to the sea-side ramble.

Here we stand on the top of a cliff composed of a soft calcareous rock—on the exposed edge of a bed of chalk that extends far inland. All the country round is gently undulating, and devoid of any of the features that make up a wild and romantic scene. The coast-line, too, is wrought into a series of gentle bays, separated by inconspicuous promontories where the rock, being slightly harder, has better withstood the eroding action of the sea; or where a current, washing the neighbouring shore, has been by some force deflected seaward. The cliff, though not high, rises almost perpendicularly from the beach, and presents to the sea a face which is but little broken, and which in itself shows no strong evidence of the action of raging, tempestuous seas; its chief diversity being its gradual rise and fall with each successive undulation of the land. The same soft and gentle nature characterises the beach below. Beyond a few small blocks of freshly-loosened chalk, with here and there a liberated nodule of flint, we find nothing but a continuous, fine, siliceous sand, the surface of which is but seldom broken by the protrusion of masses from below. Such cliffs and beaches do not in themselves suggest any violent action on the part of the sea, and yet it is here that the ocean is enabled to make its destructive efforts with the greatest effect. The soft rock is gradually but surely reduced, partly by the mechanical action of the waves and partly by the chemical action of the sea-water. The rock being almost uniformly soft, it is uniformly worn away, thus presenting a comparatively unbroken face. Its material is gradually dissolved in the sea; and the calcareous matter being thus removed, we have a beach composed of the remains of the flints which have been pulverised by the action of the waves. Thus slowly but surely the sea gains upon the land. Thus it is that many a famous landmark, once hundreds of yards from the coast, now stands so near the edge of the cliff as to be threatened by every storm; or some ancient castle, once miles from the shore, lies entirely buried by the encroaching sea.

Fig. 1.—Chalk Cliff

The coast we have described is most certainly not the one with the fullest attractions for the naturalist, for the cliffs lack those nooks that provide so much shelter for bird and beast, and the rugged coves and rock pools in which we find such a wonderful variety of marine life are nowhere to be seen. But, although it represents a typical shore for a chalky district, yet we may find others of a very different nature even where the same rock exists. Thus, at Flamborough in Yorkshire, and St. Alban’s Head in Dorset, we find the hardened, exposed edge of the chalk formation terminating in bold and majestic promontories, while the inner edge surrounding the Weald gives rise to the famous cliffs of Dover and the dizzy heights of Beachy Head. The hard chalk of the Isle of Wight, too, which has so well withstood the repeated attacks of the Atlantic waves, presents a bold barrier to the sea on the south and east coasts, and terminates in the west with the majestic stacks of the Needles.